Never the Right Time
by thatreevesgirl
Summary: Just because a relationship doesn't work when you are sixteen, doesn't mean it'll never work. Dirk and Jake still have feelings for one another, but they have to put aside the pain they caused each other in order to give it another go.


_Author's Notes: This is an older story that I'm posting here. I've had it up at AO3 for ages. I'm pinkstarpirate on AO3 if you are curious. I figure it is time to combine my writing, because the two accounts have a very different catalog of stories, and I know some people are confused. Anyway, enough blathering. Enjoy the fic!_

* * *

You watch as Jake slips into the seat across from you. He still has this air of youthful exuberance. You remember it being one of the things you were most attracted to.

He smiles at you-lopsided, and perhaps there is a hint of embarrassment hidden in there. The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly as he chances a quick glance your way. He reaches his hand toward you at first, and then rethinks it. His hand retreats as Jake chooses to scratch the back of his neck instead.

"Dirk," he says quietly. His eyes seem more interested in the tablecloth than meeting your gaze.

"Jake," you reply. Your face, thankfully, doesn't betray you. You maintain the carefully crafted poker face you have perfected in the years since Sburb.

Jake takes a deep breath and truly looks at you. His expression softens. "I missed you," he murmurs.

There is none of his normal bullshit or tomfoolery or excuses. Just a simple, "I missed you."

He successfully cracks your meticulously calculated coolness. You fight the urge to echo his sentiments. You want to tell him how you've missed him too; that you'll probably always miss him when he's not by your side, but you you remain quiet.

Both of you let the silence sink in, and he doesn't push it. You appreciate this. You aren't sure how to handle jumping straight into conversation. Jake just seems more mature, more patient. Wow, color you impressed. Even Jake English has managed to grow up. He is no longer some spirited man-child. The person sitting across from you in this stupidly quaint cafe is a man-a man you can't help but love, and a man who you wish was still a part of your life.

After a few moments, Jake breaks the silence as he takes a menu from the center of the table and asks you, "So you picked this spot, what's decent here?"

"Just about anything," you mumble.

After growing up in the middle of nowhere, eating rationed food and various wildlife you could catch, you weren't exactly a picky eater. If it was food you didn't have to remove from a vacuum-sealed package, or spear yourself, you believe it to be good enough for consumption.

Jake, also not the picture of a picky eater, just randomly selects a sandwich off the menu when your waiter arrives. You point at the daily special. You can't help it, you think the whole concept of money is stupid, and therefore you are a frugal son of a bitch.

Jake sips at his soda, he nudges it toward you since you only got a water. "Come on," he whispers with a slight grin creeping onto his lips, "I know you love this stuff."

"That shit ain't good for me," you say as you gently push it back toward him. "Rots my teeth and makes me fat. I have to be careful of my physique since I've reached the ripe old age of thirty."

"Thirty isn't that old, Dirk," he replies as his expression twists into this half incredulous laugh, half "you can be such a weirdo" look that you used to know so well.

"Thirty is old enough. My prime years are past, Jake. The best ass I'll ever have is come and gone. It is all down hill from here. The plushest rumps don't want this old timer appreciating them, nope, they have greener, younger pastures..." you just keep going. You can't help yourself. The two of you can fall back into your old routine so easily.

Perhaps this isn't exactly the truth either. There are plenty of attractive twenty-somethings who tuck slips of paper with their numbers into your pocket, or scribble numbers on napkins, or write them on your palm with some crappy pen. There have been many handsome older suitors as well. Honestly, you've never had a problem finding partners, but they were never the right one. They were never...

Jake quietly clears his throat and takes another sip of soda. "Dave called me the other day."

Dave. Oh yes, this whole lunch date stinks of that jerk. You love that jerk, but he is every bit the annoying brother you had always hoped for.

"He went through with it and asked Jade..." and Jake's voice trails off. "They are having a small ceremony and I'm supposed to ask if you'll DJ it."

You roll your eyes. You have always refused to DJ weddings. You hate weddings.

"Yeah, I can do that," you begrudgingly tell him.

Hey, your ecto-bro/dad only gets married to your ex-boyfriend's ecto-grandmum/mom once. You can't be disappointing your family. Shit like that wouldn't do.

"Oh, good!" and Jake's face lights up. It makes the pain of DJing a wedding well worth it just to see him smile like that. "Jade will be so happy. She loves your music."

You like Jade, she is a sweet gal. You feel honored that she appreciates your work.

The waiter chooses this moment to interrupt and bring your food. You take a big bite of the chicken salad special. It's pretty good, and though you'd really like to take a big ol' handful of Doritos and shove them inside the sandwich, you weren't joking about keeping an eye on your physique. Hell, you even got a side of steamed veggies with it. Oh the blasphemy of it all! You are glad Dave isn't here to give you crap, because he would definitely give you crap about it.

"So, are you going to bring a plus-one to the wedding?" Jake sneaks in between bites of his sandwich.

A plus-one? A date? Jake wants to know if you'll bring a date? Well, if you have to find someone, yes. However, that is not want you tell Jake, so you just answer his question with the same question.

"Are you bringing a plus-one?" you ask.

He shrugs. He tries to make it seem casual, but you see the nerves showing through as he inhales sharply and averts his gaze from yours.

Here is the Jake you know-always pussyfooting around, never getting to the point. Hell, it is the main reason the two of you broke up. He couldn't man up and tell you about his feelings. Back then he just held it all in and avoided every problem and issue until it destroyed your relationship from the inside out.

But as you watch, Jake settles himself. He drinks another sip of soda and takes a deep breath before coming right out and asking, "I was hoping you'd be my plus-one."

Before you can really think of an appropriate response, or even the right answer (which you know is yes, by the way), you just scoff and ask, "You really think that's a good idea?"

Jake is a little off-put by this. You can tell the thoughtless barb wounds him a little, but he just nods. "Yes, I think it would be a good idea."

You put your sandwich down. The food isn't settling right, and your mouth is too dry to swallow. Jake may be the man you fell in love with as a teenager, and who you are still in love with to this day, but he is also the man who broke your heart. He is the man who was careless with your feelings when you actually opened up to him. Jake betrayed your trust. What part of this history warrants him a second chance?

"Well," you begin, and you can't hide the skepticism laced in your voice, "You'll have to pardon me, but I don't remember us working to well in that aspect, Jake."

Jake nods, because he knows. He is fully aware of why you are hesitant and angry with him. However, he doesn't back down. "We were kids," he defends, "Kids make stupid mistakes. I didn't know how do to relationships any better than you did back then."

You want to laugh at him or punch him or kiss him, or maybe all three. Your voice drops down to a low growl. You kind of hope is sounds vaguely threatening. "I don't know exactly what part I screwed up, Jake. Maybe you can enlighten me."

Now it is Jake's turn to be surprised. "Gadzooks, Dirk, you about drowned me with affection. Which, by the way, wasn't necessarily bad. What I couldn't handle was how you controlled absolutely every minuscule part of your life; myself included."

Jake snorts and tosses his sandwich down on his plate before continuing. He forces his voice to stay steady and calm, the volume just a touch over what is considered appropriate in public, but still within reason. "If I wasn't loving you how you wanted me to love you, then I wasn't doing it right. Maybe you should have let me love you in my own way. Maybe you should have realized I was fully capable of making my own decisions. I wasn't some idiot in need of your protection and care."

Well, he has a point there. You were always afraid of losing him, so you treated him like fragile glass waiting to be shattered. You knew he was made of tougher stuff then, and he's still made of tougher stuff now.

Before you can stop yourself, your worst fear, the one that you buried so deep down inside of yourself, manages to weasel its way onto your tongue. It slips out as the scared accusation of a sixteen year old boy who was madly in love with his best friend. It is so deeply rooted in you, that you can't help as you whisper, "Well, it's not like you ever really loved me anyway."

Jake's expression goes from angry to shocked to deeply wounded in the span of a heartbeat. You can tell it hits him hard, perhaps too hard. You see as his eyes turn glassy. He blinks and tries to carefully force the tears back down.

You are embarrassed to have made such an accusation. You can't force yourself to watch as you once again destroy any possibility of happiness with Jake. You decide staring straight down at your fork is a much better option than looking him in the face.

You are just about to excuse yourself when Jake's hand settles on yours. It startles you, and it is rare for anything to startle you. You watch as he twines his fingers in yours and squeezes with nothing more than the most comforting gentleness.

"Dirk," he says, and his voice doesn't waver or show any hesitation, "I have always loved you."

There is a lump in your throat that you cannot seem to swallow. The last time you cried was when Jake called things off between the two of you. You can count the number of times you have cried in your lifetime on one hand, and that includes this particular moment.

Jake reaches over with his free hand and brushes away the tear dangling on your chin, and then he follows the path it made up your cheek. He cups your face and leans over and kisses you in front of the whole damn restaurant.

Fuck him for kissing you when you are weak and vulnerable. Fuck him for making you realize that you still love him. Fuck Jake for all this bullshit.

He leans his forehead against yours as you simmer in your anger. You hate him. You fucking hate him, and you love him, and why is it that only Jake English has the ability to tear down every single wall you have ever built in your god-forsaken lifetime?

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your mouth. "I thought you knew."

You push away from him. Part of you knows you shouldn't be defensive, and that you should accept Jake's feelings, but you are Dirk Strider. You aren't going to make it easy for him. Hell, you aren't going to make it easy for yourself either. You stare at him for a second and turn to leave.

Predictably, he stands and follows you. He only pauses long enough to throw a twenty down on the table for the bill. Then he is matching you step for step. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. And it forces you to remember when it was you doing the chasing.

"Dirk, please stop," he asks. He is right behind you. You are tempted to run, but he knows where you live. Your apartment isn't that far away. You have no doubt Jake would camp outside your door if it came down to it. You'd have to move to a completely different city to truly run away.

You decide to stop. He halts just as quickly. You turn and look him over once. Jake pulls his hands up in front of himself in a defensive posture. The asshole even has the gall to smirk at you as he clenches his hands into tight fists. You somehow forgot his love of fisticuffs and how he likes to use it to settle arguments. You slowly bring your hands up and lay them on top of his fists, disarming him.

You can tell Jake is hopeful, he still has a slight grin on his face as you pull his hands down and away from his chest. Then you shake your head at him.

"Jake, go back to your hotel."

You start walking, and for a moment you think this thing between you and him is finished until you hear him defiantly say, "No," and he starts following you again.

You are really close to punching him now, but he just laughs and says, "See how annoying it is when someone smothers you with unnecessary affection?"

You're not sure how this qualifies as being smothered with affection. So far today Jake has brought you to tears, threatened you with fisticuffs, and stalked you for at least six city blocks. This sounds vaguely dysfunctional at best, and a far cry from affection at worst.

When you reach your door you just leave it hanging open behind you. No use shutting it so Jake can pound on it half the night and make your downstairs neighbor Mrs. Turner hate you more than she already does.

Jake sits down on your couch and flips on the television. You decide that this is the perfect time for a long, hot shower sans-Jake. You need to clear your head, and figure out how to handle this. You grab a pair of sweats and some boxers out of your room before closing yourself off in the bathroom.

After disrobing, you turn the shower temperature to something just short of scalding and step under the spray. You just let your mind go blank as the water runs over you. The pale skin of your arms and shoulders turns a bright pink as you try to scrub away the last hour and all the memories it contains.

Jake knocks on the door. You almost tell him to go away, but choose to ignore him instead. He comes in anyway.

"Nothing good on the telly," he complains as he plunks the toilet seat down and sits. "How's the shower?"

Silence.

"Want me to join you?" and Jake chuckles at his suggestion.

More silence.

"Dirk..." he begins, but just lets your name hang there, lost in the over-abundance of steam and the sound of the water spray.

Just when you think you've won, Jake makes sure to let you know that he certainly hasn't put in his last word.

"Dirk, I...I just want to try again. A fresh start, you know? I know we had problems, and I know I caused a lot of them, but we weren't ready for a relationship. I loved you and you loved me, but that doesn't mean we knew a bloody thing about love back then."

Fuck it all, why does he have to start making sense? Of course sixteen is too young to fall in love. And there are rare instances where that kind of young love survives, but more often than not, it doesn't. Your problem is that you never got over Jake. You cling to your first relationship. In fact, you've never had another relationship hold a candle to what you had with Jake.

Jake deserves another chance. You and he deserve to try and have the kind of relationship you could never have at sixteen. You want a mature, adult relationship. It is obvious both of you still harbor feelings for one another, so why is it so damn difficult to accept him back into your life and into you heart?

Then Jake says the one thing that puts it all in perspective. He gives life to the thing you haven't been able to admit. The thing you absolutely refuse to admit.

"I'm scared too."

You want to shout at him that you aren't scared. What in the hell is there to be scared of? A dead relationship? A broken friendship? A haunting past which has fucked you up for over a decade? But hell, yes, of course you are scared. You are terrified out of your mind.

You, Dirk Strider, are damned if you do and damned if you don't. If you let Jake back into your life for another go-round he could shatter your heart into a million pieces for a second time; but, if you let him walk away-or worse, push him away-you will always wonder, "What if?"

You are lost in your own thoughts as Jake pulls back the shower curtain. He is still fully clothed, but he doesn't seem to notice as he steps in behind you. You don't fight him as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back into his chest. Honestly, you don't want to fight it. This is Jake English. This is the man you will love until you die.

He maneuvers until his head rests just above your right shoulder blade. He is still a few inches shorter than you, but you fit together so well. This is how you want your story to end. This is how you want things to be.

It doesn't matter that you are stark naked, and he is a clothed idiot soaking himself stupid as he clings to you. It doesn't matter that your first attempt at love with him ended tragically. It doesn't matter how you almost ruined a friendship more dear to you than all the possessions in every iteration of every universe in existence. It doesn't matter that he might hurt you again, or you might hurt him again. You just want a world where Jake-Fucking-English climbs into your shower and holds you simply because he knows you need to be held.

The only thing you say as the water starts to run cold is, "I want to be your plus-one."

He kisses the spot between your shoulder blades and murmurs into your skin, "I'll send in the RSVP."

* * *

Epilogue:

Dirk sifts through a box of carefully packed vinyl. He chooses a few records here and there, and finally shuts away the twenty or so selections into a padded travel box.

"You got everything?" you ask as you adjust the bow tie around your neck. This doesn't stop Dirk from walking over and fidgeting with it again before nodding and giving you a quick peck on the lips.

"Jake, can you get the packed turntables?" Dirk asks as he picks up the records and a couple other boxes and balances them against his hip.

It is times like these in which you sorely miss your old sylladex. You never understood why a post-Sburb world wouldn't have some kind of sylladex storage system, but at least in this version of Earth you get to have a second chance with Dirk. You'll take that over a stupid sylladex any day.

You grunt and pick up Dirk's turntables. He must have great confidence in your strength, because fuck all, these are the heaviest damn things you'd had to lug around in quite some time.

"Got them, let's go," you tell him. You try not to show the strain in your voice, but of course he picks up on it right away.

"Those too much for you, princess?" he asks as he does a quick once-over of himself in the full-length mirror propped up near the door.

"Of course not," you lie. However, if your back goes out because of these stupid things, Dirk will have hell to pay.

"Oh good, then we can head out."

Dirk shoos you out of his apartment. Well, it is kind your apartment lately too. He has given you the spare bedroom (though you rarely sleep there). Most of your time is either spent in Dirk's room, Dirk's bed, or hanging out with Dirk on the futon in the living room.

Things between the two of you are going well. There have been bumps in the road, but you are happy to report the two of you seem to be in a healthy relationship. He still has issues with trust, and you still have an issue or two of your own, but the relationship is likely to survive.

One thing you know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, is that you love Dirk Strider. Dirk once told you how his aspect worked. He was the Prince of Hearts-the destroyer of souls. He suspects your Sburb session might have failed if you hadn't broken his heart and allowed him to reach his full potential.

"Sometimes we are fated to destroy the things we love the most, because it is the only way to survive," he told you.

Sometimes you wonder how, through all of that, did his love for you endure? You know he loves you, because you see it in how he treats you, and all he does for you. You can't pinpoint the exact things that say 'I love you,' but the small things add up and it shows loud and clear.

_We are only human, and we are flawed. We are damaging and we are damaged, but no matter how broken we become, life goes on and we must go on with it. We try to change for the better, and we grow and become stronger than we were. We learn to live again, and we learn to love again as our old wounds heal. Sometimes it isn't the right time, but sometimes it is._


End file.
